


man or beast, i love you

by ZOMBIEDOG



Series: SELF-INDULGENT [9]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Other, Werewolf Arthur Morgan, but technically a werewolf, more like wolf arthur morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZOMBIEDOG/pseuds/ZOMBIEDOG
Summary: Maybe Arthur was going soft, or maybe he was just lonely, but later that night when everything was quiet and addressed, and the bayou seemed to be at peace once more, he softly laid his head on your leg, huffing softly when you gave him a soft pat between the ears, staring down with those eyes that filled Arthur with a serenity that seemed to seep into his bones, and pulled him into sleep. It was the first time in years that he'd been able to sleep so wonderfully.





	man or beast, i love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gunschute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunschute/gifts).

>   
i am,, sofft,,,, for werewolf arthur morgan. but i was also super into my feelings, and genuinely have no excuse for this hgfd  


Arthur Morgan was not human, and he hadn't been for many years. He'd given up the life of a man, trapped in a form of fur and teeth and claws. The gang was never far from his mind, the family he had to leave behind, the family he'd abandoned. But how could he expect them to love him? To not shoot him dead on sight? To them, Arthur Morgan was dead, had been dead for many years, the same many years Arthur had been cursed with this form. And at night, when his sorrows were great and the moons light blinding, he would sing a song of loneliness and loss, singing of everything he'd left behind, the family he could never see again. His song of melancholy haunted the bayou every full moon, tugging at the hearts of all who heard it, bringing forth memories of remembrance and loyalty, something pure and just now tainted and damaged. Arthur Morgan was more monster than man.

He was also a legend. Something told to children to keep them from falling victim to a gator's bite or the night folk, a giant wolf that haunted the swamps and cried at night, like a man who'd lost everything. He was never hunted, always regarded as just another ghost story, nothing to hold onto too strongly, just something to share over a camp-fire to make the nights seem less lonely. He'd heard a few himself, a man cursed by an evil witch to wear the form of a wolf for all of eternity seemed to be a popular one, but it wasn't true. There was no witch, but there _was_ a curse, and what a _nasty_ thing it was. A moment of weakness, that's all it took, and he'd lost _everything_. Arthur never stopped searching, hunting for the thing that ruined him, the thing that plagued his nightmares every night. Dutch always preached that revenge was a fool's game, but it was the only game he had left.

Arthur was always wise to avoid the clearings, the paths where the trees would slowly give way to the swamps and the mud and the creatures lurking beneath the murky surface. He only revealed himself once, and that was to save a child. Just where the child came from, he'd never know, but they had made a bee-line for the water, and Arthur couldn't sit by and watch such a terrible thing happen. Memories of Isaac haunted him, and he would never let a mother (or father) feel the pain he felt, to look over their shoulder and see the ghosts that haunted Arthur day and night. He had gently (oh so gently) grabbed the soft cotton shirt between his fangs and ripped them away from the water's edge, grumbling and huffing as he made his way towards the road. The child wailed in fright, and it hurt him, to know such a thing was terrified of him. He had to remind himself of what he was, what he looked like, and how he'd react in such a situation.

He had stayed hidden in the bushes, occasionally coming out to sniff and check the little thing, to make sure they were still breathing and ok and-

The sound of shouts and yells and cries of panic had driven him back, forcing him to hide in shrubbery as the child's parents finally made an appearance. The mother holding them tight to her chest, her sobs muffled by the soft cotton, the father approaching them both and wrapping his arms tightly around them. It hurt Arthur, to see the thing he'd always wanted before him, something he could never have. God was cruel and it appeared that Arthur was his favorite to bother and bully. If this was punishment for all the thing's he'd done as a man, then it was only fitting, but that didn't make it hurt less. He continued to hide until long past the small family had left, yet again leaving him alone.

Arthur continued on his lonely journey until the night he met a blessing in disguise, someone he'd nicknamed his angel in his own mind, after the first time you had so gently patted his fur and whispered to him that he was beautiful. He could still remember the night he'd stumbled across their camp-fire, his softly golden coat reflecting the flames as you stared at him, completely frozen as if one move and he'd leap to attack. And at the time, he'd seriously considered it. The night folk had gotten wise of him, setting down traps and snares and constantly on the search for him, and they'd nearly caught him, with a well-aimed bullet to the shoulder. He had limped away into the woods in a panic, not paying attention to anything until a soft gasp brought him back to his body, and there you were, in all of your heavenly glory.

You didn't even raise a hand to him, only watching as he stood across from you, the only thing between you was the still burning camp-fire. And there the two of you sat, never taking your eyes off the other. It was silent, a faint sense of peace between the two of you, broken by the appearance of the night folk. Arthur thought you'd just hand him over, allow them to finish what they'd started, to finish him, but you didn't. You had lept to your feet, grabbing your gun, and defending him with all you could. And it was that moment that Arthur decided he could trust you, he would stick by your side until you wanted him gone. You'd saved him, and he wouldn't leave without returning the favor.

It was also that night that you sat so close to him, cleaning his wounds with whiskey, never flinching when he would growl and grumble from the pain, only backing away and waiting for him to let you continue treating the wounds. Maybe Arthur was going soft, or maybe he was just lonely, but later that night when everything was quiet and addressed, and the bayou seemed to be at peace once more, he softly laid his head on your leg, huffing softly when you gave him a soft pat between the ears, staring down with those eyes that filled Arthur with a serenity that seemed to seep into his bones, and pulled him into sleep. It was the first time in years that he'd been able to sleep so wonderfully.

Arthur grew to know you, your sorrows and happiness, and he would even sing for you. Not the melancholy song's he'd howl at night, but broken bits of love and adoration he could only croon, soft growls and grumbles breaking through as he tried to convey the love and safety you instilled in him. His heart would swell every time you laughed and sang along, nonsensical words that still sounded so beautiful to him. He loved you as much as a beast could, and perhaps as much as a man. And it hurt to know he could never love you like you deserved, to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings to you as the sun would dip below the mountains, to kiss the sky goodnight. But Arthur was stubborn, he'd always been and always would be. He would love you with all he had, even if all he had to offer was his songs and his company and the warmth of his fur when the air got cold, but you never seemed to mind. So neither did he.

It hurt to know he could never whisper 'I love you' in a way you would understand, but love was a language all of its own, and he just hoped that with time, you'd come to understand just how much he adored you. How you'd done the impossible of taming his heart and claiming it as your own. And maybe, one day you'd convince him that he never deserved such cruelty and that he was worth such beautiful words and gentle touches, but for now, for now he would be contented with cuddling close under the moonlight and singing by the camp-fire.


End file.
